As Spring Yields to Summer
As Spring Yields to Summer I only see her when she’s out, the woman across the way, pushing her lawnmower that has no engine, the grating of squeaky wheels, its whirling, rusty blades, the sound of a hundred haircuts. A fumeless, slicing symphony, the grass wafting fresh and green. Day and night through my windowsill
February 26, 2024
No Comments